


Temple of Sin

by annabeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Crossdressing, M/M, Pliroy, Smut, Underage Sex, abuse of religious imagery, clergy kink au, homeless boy Yuri, priest JJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: "My body is your temple,Father."





	Temple of Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blownwish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/gifts).



> The AU aspects (besides the JJ-is-a-priest trope) are heavily influenced by [Blownwish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blownwish). ♥
> 
> Beta'd by [ShadesofHades](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades). Thank you so much! ♥

"This is it?" Yuri prowls around the room, opening the wardrobe door, fingering Father Leroy's cassocks and starched black dress pants with the vertical creases. He closes the door and circles around to the bed, with its plain white sheets and brown blanket, scratchy and uncomfortable. "You live like a monk."

"I'm a priest," Father Leroy says rather helplessly. "Not so very different, really. Would you like… uh, I could get you a glass of water?"

Yuri stands beneath the crucifix hanging on the wall, gazing up at it. Then he puts his arms outstretched, lowers his head, and mimics Jesus on the cross. Father Leroy should feel uncomfortable about that; he should be preaching to Yuri about the horrors of blasphemy and hellfire, but he finds his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

"I'm not thirsty." Yuri abandons the pose and goes over, flops onto the bed on his back. He raises his arms over his head, exposing a stretch of his abdomen beneath the short t-shirt. It's hard for Jean-Jacques to tell if the shirt is too small because he's outgrown it, or if the smallness of it is deliberate.

The miniskirt is _definitely_ deliberate. He's only known Yuri a short time, but this is the first time he's worn something besides tight skinny jeans or tiny shorts. When Yuri lifts one leg up, bends his knee, and plants his foot on the bed, the miniskirt rides up and bares his groin to the yellowish lighting of Father Leroy's bedroom. He's wearing white briefs, and his dick is slightly hard, pushing against the fabric. Jean-Jacques swallows. He's only known Yuri for a short time, but this fifteen-year-old— _fifteen_ , for Christ's sake—boy has been tempting and testing him since they met in McDonald's, Yuri staring at the menu with only a handful of change in his hand.

Father Leroy—because he'd been the Good Samaritan that day—had paid for a meal for the dirty, scruffy, blond-haired teenager. When Yuri had spoken to him the first time, he'd eyed the clerical collar, quirked his lips derisively, and said,

"Thanks for the fucking food, _Father_." He'd stepped around him; walking away, his ass had been hugged perfectly by the ratty, ripped jeans. There was a hole just beneath one buttock. He'd glanced over his shoulder. "If you want me to pay you back, I'm just off Woodward, in the abandoned house by the Catholic church." Then he'd winked. Father Leroy had wished he didn't know what that wink meant.

But now he's not squatting in squalor away from the rain. This time he's lying on Jean-Jacques's bed, wearing clothes that, honestly, must have been shoplifted, and Jean-Jacques ought to give him a sermon about stealing, but he doesn't; his mouth is glued shut.

"Like what you see?" Yuri wiggles a little on the bed. "I'm only a little ways there; come help me?" He arches a blond eyebrow. Jean-Jacques swallows. He's so close—he can smell the mint of his breath from when he stole Jean-Jacques's toothbrush and used it to brush his teeth. Jean-Jacques didn't want to ask him how long it had been since he'd brushed his teeth before that. He was a homeless teenager, he needed Father Leroy's _help_ , but instead, here they are.

He's so close Jean-Jacques can see the beauty mark on the inside of his right knee, the leg that's bent onto the bed. He's so close Jean-Jacques can smell the faint tang of his body, the odor of unwashed teenage boy, and shamefully, instead of making Jean-Jacques want to wash him, it just makes him want to bury his nose in that scent. Because that scent is something earthy and _real_. Something that Jean-Jacques can put stock in, unlike all the wisps of promises he gets from a God he can't see or touch. This is something he can see and touch, can hold. A promise that can be kept. Yuri is wearing deodorant, but it must be days old. Yet despite all that, Jean-Jacques wants to touch, to lay him out like a sacrificial lamb, peel those briefs down and explore that still faintly soft cock.

"What are you waiting for? I need a savior, _Father_. Won't you be my savior?" He lifts the other leg, repeats the action with his knee and his foot, then lets his knees sprawl open. The miniskirt is now rucked up and bunched at his waist. His Fruit of the Loom briefs are strained over his hardening arousal. "My body is your temple," he says slyly.

"I can't," Father Leroy whispers. "I'm a priest," he adds, louder. Yuri snorts. He reaches between his own legs and gives his cotton-covered cock a stroke. He's so close Jean-Jacques can see the instant a droplet of precome soaks through the material and leaves a minute wet spot. Jean-Jacques's mouth is no longer glued shut with dryness, but wet and watering with the need to taste.

"You already fucking said that, Jesus. I need assistance, _Father_. I'm a needy parishioner. Are you going to turn me away?" He smiles coyly. "It could be Jesus you're not letting into your home, _Father_. Jesus is at the door, _Father_ , he's knocking."

"You're not even Catholic," Jean-Jacques protests weakly. He wonders where Yuri learned that bit of Scripture. He's suddenly closer, his feet carrying him to the bed without his knowledge. He can smell Yuri now, not the faint unwashed tang of sweat, but the musk of his hardening dick, the faintly sour-sweet aroma of his groin. Yuri gives himself another lazy stroke.

"Those pants aren't hiding anything, _Father_ ," Yuri says, stripping Jean-Jacques's soul bare. "I can see how hard you are. For me, right? Have you done this before? It doesn't matter if you haven't. I have; I'll show you what to do. What do you say, _Father_? Want to give into temptation?"

This boy is not the Devil, but Jean-Jacques isn't going to be able to say no. He puts one knee on the bed, leans in close.

"I was a teenager once," he says softly. "I experimented with a boy on the youth hockey team. I'm not totally… inexperienced."

"Are you a virgin, _Father_?" Yuri asks, but it's not curiosity crouched in his intense green eyes. It's predatory, that look. Jean-Jacques can't hide from the spotlight those eyes are shining on him—and shamefully, he doesn't want to. He grasps Yuri's wrist and stills it from its lazy strokes. He pulls Yuri's hand away.

And he replaces it with his own.

++

Later, when he's on his knees for Confession in the chapel, the only person to hear his prayers himself and God, he will remember the taste, like honey, on Yuri's skin. The unbelievable, unbearable softness of that young, supple skin.

The way that beautiful dick flushed rosy beneath his ministrations, the way it dripped onto his hands, the way it tasted lying heavy on his tongue. The way he had swallowed Yuri's come like he might take Communion, with every intention of eating of the Host, of consuming the body—only this time it was Yuri's body he wanted to consume; Yuri's body he wanted to surround himself with. He just wanted to bury his cock in that willing, silky heat forever; to feel each thrust reverberate in both his body _and_ his soul; to kiss those lips again and find Benediction even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

And oh, the way Yuri would breathe, " _Father_ ," each time Father Leroy sunk into him. The way he cried out for Jesus in the most obscene ways imaginable when Jean-Jacques pulled back.

The way his fingers had scrawled notes in blood over Jean-Jacques's shoulders, or his hands gripped tight his biceps, as he moved beneath Jean-Jacques; as he writhed and arched and his body had such beauty, such grace, such smooth sinuous movement, much like Jean-Jacques imagined the Serpent in the Garden of Eden had possessed.

Yes, Jean-Jacques fucked him hard, and held him afterward; and found him something to wear when they ripped his miniskirt. Jean-Jacques's old sweats were too long, and too big, but Yuri made them look good just the same.

Now, Jean-Jacques is kneeling again, ready to receive that beautiful pink cock, and he touches Yuri's belly with a reverent fingertip, then nuzzles the crease of his thigh with his nose before turning his head and licking that perfect pink dick.

"Father," Yuri whimpers, hips stuttering, as he tries to get close. Closer.

Closest.

_Don't leave me,_ Jean-Jacques thinks, hoping each swipe and touch of his tongue is a penny in the bank of Yuri's goodwill, that will keep him coming back.

He wants to keep Yuri here, and not in that damned abandoned house, but of course, he can't. All he has is this. All he can ever have is this: Yuri a feast for a dying man, the Last Supper of a condemned man. Jean-Jacques is both. He's dying by degrees every time he touches Yuri; condemned by God and all that is Holy to suffer for eternity. There will be no Last Rites for him. There _should_ be no Last Rites for a priest who fucks a fifteen-year-old boy, no matter how golden the boy's hair or pink his lips; how green his eyes or how roses and cream his complexion is.

"How I suffer for you," Jean-Jacques breathes against Yuri's lips, later, as they sip at intoxicating kisses.

"I know, Father," Yuri replies, softly pushing the hair out of Jean-Jacques's eyes. Jean-Jacques knows what he sees: despair, the blue hollowed out by guilt; the only thing pure left in him is the love of this fifteen-year-old homeless boy. But it's tainted by the condemnation of his soul, so he kisses Yuri again and swallows down the words.

_I love you._

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me (helm-puppet-trash) on [Tumblr](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com)!


End file.
